


rouse the sun

by kurgaya



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Drabble, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 05:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10237085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurgaya/pseuds/kurgaya
Summary: KM prompt:Knowing she's going to die, Lunafreya passes her oracle abilities to Ignis, Prompto or Gladio.He turns his head just slightly, gaze falling in Gentiana's direction, and though she is neither here nor anywhere, a messenger misplaced between two people she cannot reach, she is pleased at Gladiolus' perception, at how he knows anyway that she is there.





	

 

Salt-water and blood form the covenant, and Leviathan descends to her sea. Altissia sinks beneath a grieving tide, the people of the city crying out as the astral's wrath floods their homes, as the Empire ignite the streets, and as the stormclouds break over the pedestal upon which their Oracle dies. Destiny sweeps her away in hands of ice and seaweed-veins, dark depths of an ocean stealing the very moon that guides its tides. At the bottom of the world, Lunafreya will slumber eternal, but not before ensuring that the sun will rise.

There has always been an Oracle, and there never will again.

_But not yet._

 

 

 

Between nowhere and everywhere, the gods evoke their rage. Cloaked in black, moonlight white, and emblazoned in the muted golds of day, the messenger stands unflinching at their powers, a woman of beauty and apathy in the face of their tirade. She is one of them - she was, will be, has always, truly been - but her affections, her blessings and favour, are gifted elsewhere. She chose the role of messenger in this life, lingering in the mortal realm between two lovers that could have been and will never be, and in return for her dedication she has felt love, pride, happiness, and sorrow, and she knows that _this_ \- the Oracle's death, Lunafreya's death, the death of the sun and the dawn and the Chosen who will lift it - is not to be.

Gentiana's hands are clasped before her, and in them, the Trident of the Oracle freezes from black to silver at her touch. It is warm where Lunafreya held it, where she bled to death still wielding it, an Oracle determined to bless her King.

There has always been an Oracle, Gentiana knows, but there never will again.

 _And yet_.

 

 

 

The Ring of Lucii rests atop the bedside table, waiting for the hand of its King. Noctis slumbers far from the waking world, deathly still in the hospital bed and his skin ice-cold to touch. He breathes as though he drowns, deep, gasping breaths but not a sound, and every inhalation is a relief to the Crownsguard around his bed.

Gentiana stands unseen by the eldest - the Shield, the one who grieves with anger and who loves his duty, burns with flames. Her hand rests on the back of his chair, grounding herself in this reality (this Lunafreya-less but not Oracle-less reality), and she listens as Gladiolus sighs.

Across the room, the adviser stirs from his nap, book lying forgotten over his knee. He rubs his right eye, the other unseeing but healing behind a wrap of gauze, and casts his gaze to the unmoving King before echoing Gladiolus' sigh.

"Nothing?" Ignis asks, expression softening as it sweeps from Noctis to Prompto, sprawled over the bed and snoring, clutching the sheets by the King's side, and then finally to Gladiolus, seated opposite. Both men are hunched in chairs that they would do well not to sleep in, but neither are willing to move from the King's side.

Gladiolus shakes his head, lips set in a downward slant, exhaustion tugging shadows down under his eyes. Prompto emits a soft noise and buries himself further into the bed, but Gentiana is the only one who smiles.

"Have you slept?" Ignis presses, rearranging himself more comfortably. There is a cold pot of coffee on the table between them, and he grimaces at the waste.

"No," Gladiolus admits. "Not since..." He turns his head just slightly, gaze falling in Gentiana's direction, and though she is neither here nor anywhere, a messenger misplaced between two people she cannot reach, she is pleased at Gladiolus' perception, at how he knows anyway that she is there.

She brushes his shoulder, bidding her frost gently across his skin. Gladiolus shivers, entire body jerking at the touch, and the Trident of the Oracle almost tumbles from his lap.

"Maybe I should," he concedes, holding onto the trident with none of the Lunafreya's assurance but all of her warmth from the touch of his hands. "'Lest you want me to have another shot at fixing your eyes?"

"I can wait," Ignis reassures. "No doubt Noctis will sleep a while. Have you...?"

"Heard anything from the gods?" Gladiolus guesses, smiling ruefully. "Nah. Yelling at them probably won't do any good. Look where that's got us." He rolls the trident over, its silver edge catching in the bronze light of the afternoon. Tomorrow, the sun will rise as it always has, and the trident will glow in the morning hue.

"There has always been an Oracle," Ignis says, carefully uttering the words. Gladiolus had not accepted his duty gladly, and yet he holds onto the trident still.

"Yeah," Gladiolus agrees, leaning his head into his hand. He'll sleep fitfully like that, but he closes his eyes and tries anyway. "Guess there still is."

Appeased, Gentiana steps away and decides that she has chosen well.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment as you go~


End file.
